


Like A Livewire

by ProneToRelapse



Series: The Thot Sent By CyberLife [6]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor can't speak for the majority of this fic, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Sumo is best boy, Unconventional gagging i guess?, Wire Play, hank is a dick but we love him anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 08:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15577794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: Connor tries to climb an electric fence. It goes as well as you'd expect.





	Like A Livewire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [K_X_X](https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_X_X/gifts).



> even though you didn't fUCKING SLEEP, you get this because i love you and your face, you thot. you know who you are.

_You can stop laughing any time now, Lieutenant._

Hank wheezes, shoulders shaking, one hand clamped over his mouth to muffle the sound of his laughter but his eyes are full of mirthful tears that give away his amusement. Connor scowls as Hank reads the text message on his phone and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself before attempting to choke out an answer. 

“‘M not laughing.” He clamps his mouth shut, voice hitching as he tries to compose himself. “It’s not funny and I am not laughing.”

_You’re correct, it isn’t funny. And yet here you are. Laughing. At my expense._

“I’m  _sorry,”_  Hank insists, wiping his eyes. “But that was the funniest shit I’ve ever seen in my life.”

The alleged “funniest shit” was, in Connor’s opinion, not funny in the slightest. And at the time, Hank hadn’t seemed to think so either. It wasn’t until after, when he’d seen Connor was unharmed, only mildly damaged, that he had burst into laughter and not stopped since. 

Connor folds his arms and continues scowling, thoroughly unimpressed. 

_The next time you do something stupid, which you inevitably will, I’m submitting the recording from my memory drives to the entire department._

“Hey now,” Hank says. “Alright, I know I shouldn’t have laughed, but in my defence…”

Connor raises an eyebrow. 

“It was  _really_ fucking funny.”

Connor smacks him on the arm. Not hard enough to hurt. If you’re an android. 

“Ow, Jesus,” Hank complains, rubbing his forearm. “Look, I wasn’t expecting it, okay? You shot up that fence without even checking. And there was a sign  _right in front of it_  that said it was electrified.”

Connor had, by all accounts, been more focused on pursuing their target while preconstructing sixty-three other scenarios simultaneously than checking the relatively nondescript sign on the front of the fence. He’d taken the shortcut to cut their perp off before he reached the intersection and had leapt up the fence without a second thought. Which he’d immediately regretted when five thousand volts had shot through his system and flung him back across the ground. 

He’d been unharmed save for a brief need to reboot and the burning of the synthskin on his palms, but he’d suffered a little internal damage when he’d tried to keep the electricity away from his major components. 

Cutting a long story short, Connor has fried his voice box. 

“I’m not saying it’s a good thing,” Hank says, turning the key in the car’s ignition and pulling away. “But maybe I’ll get some peace and quiet tonight. Order myself takeout while you can’t nag me.”

_I can still nag you._ Hank checks his phone screen briefly before tossing his phone down and focusing on driving. 

“Yeah, and I can put my phone on silent.”

Unable to answer that in any way, Connor spends the rest of the drive home positively fuming and stays fuming when they get inside. He changes into his – Hank’s – favourite hoodie and sweats and curls up on the couch with Sumo, switching on the tv and leaving Hank to do whatever he’s going to do for the evening. 

He doesn’t attempt to talk to Connor until much later. He doesn’t get a response. 

“Oh, so you’re ignoring me now?”

Connor huffs a short breath out of his nose, continuing to scratch under Sumo’s jowls. Hank has a carton of noodles in his hands, horrifically high in sodium and sucrose and a variety of other things, and Connor will definitely have a  _lot_  to say about that as soon as he’s able. 

Which won’t be until Wednesday when CyberLife are able to send his replacement parts out. 

“I said I was sorry.”

Connor doesn’t even look round, just keeps petting Sumo because Sumo is a good boy who doesn’t make fun of Connor when he can’t speak. 

“Connor.”

Sumo’s tail is wagging a mile a minute. 

“Connor.”

His hind kicks happily when Connor scratches right under his chin. 

“I love you.”

Oh, that’s  _underhanded._

Connor is glad of his ability to mostly control his outward reactions. He doesn’t look round, doesn’t pause his petting of Sumo, but he does send fifty consecutive texts to Hank’s cellphone of the same angry face emoji until the device vibrates itself off the coffee table. He finally looks up when it hits the carpet, giving Hank a flat look. 

“Point taken. Am I sleeping on the couch tonight?”

Very slowly, very pointedly, not breaking eye contact for a second, Connor nods. 

“Yeah, that’s probably fair.”

It’s absolutely fair though Connor sleeps terribly, but he’s nothing if not stubborn, so he lies in bed with his arms folded, staring unmoving at the ceiling, listening to the soft, irritated sounds of Hank’s grumbling as he rolls around on the sofa to get comfortable. Sumo has been allowed to join Connor on the bed in a last moment of spite and the warm weight is something of a comfort even if he does dribble worse than Hank does in his sleep. 

At this point Connor isn’t even particularly angry anymore. He’s just irritated. If Hank had been injured, lost his ability to speak, Connor would have been frantic. But because Connor is fixable, it’s not an issue. Just slap a new modulator in his throat and he’s good to go. It’s a bit hypocritical, he thinks, after all the times Hank has stated his discomfort that Connor can be repaired so easily unlike his human partner. 

His human partner whom he would very much like to curl up against right now. 

Connor huffs and rolls onto his side, burying his face in Sumo’s soft fur. 

He’s got an entire lecture prepared that he’s going to give Hank come Wednesday. He closes his eyes and forces himself into stasis. 

He’s woken up the the soft click of the front door closing because it startles Sumo whose head shoots up, ears pricked and alert. A quick check of his internal clock tells him it’s only just past six AM, so Connor gets out of bed, Sumo close at his heel, and heads into the living room. 

Hank is gone, blankets hanging off the sofa, pillow pummelled into a deformed mess like it had personally offended him. A quick glance out the window shows that Hank’s car is still outside, but there’s no sign of him anywhere along the street. 

Sumo whines and headbutts Connor’s leg. He reaches down to pet him gently, stomach tight with anxious worry. What on earth would have driven Hank out at this time? Where would he have gone?  _Why_?

He wants to comfort the dog, say something out loud that, even if it’s not wholly true, might offer them both some comfort. But there’s nothing for him to say and, even if he could speak, the only sounds he can make are those choked, staticky hisses and the sound of them upsets him. Too mechanical. Inhuman. 

Instead, he curls up on the sofa, wrapping the blanket around himself and Sumo, and presses his face into the lumpy pillow that smells faintly of Hank, staying like that until he can slip slowly back into stasis once more, however uneasy it is. 

And is awoken a second time by Sumo’s excitable barking as he bounds off the sofa. 

“Fucking hell, Sumo, shhhh. Jesus Christ. You’re gonna wake— Oh.” He cuts off when he sees Connor on the sofa. 

Connor looks up at him, sleepy-eyed and beyond relieved to see him home, arms opening wide. Hank’s stiff shoulders relax and he comes over, kicking his shoes off and sprawling out on top of Connor with a sleepy groan. He smells of the outside, fresh and cool, and faintly of nicotine but Connor doesn’t actually care right now. He luxuriates in the weight of him, nuzzling into Hank’s cheek with a sigh. 

_Where did you go,_ he wants to ask, but won’t because he can’t and doesn’t want to message Hank’s phone and break this moment, but Hank can sense the tension in Connor’s body and he sits up, drawing an involuntary grind of static from Connor’s throat.

“It’s okay,” Hank says. “I’m sorry I woke you. I couldn’t sleep, I felt so bad.

“ _Me, too,”_ Connor mouths, pronounced enough that Hank can understand. He smiles a little guiltily and moves back to pick up a box Connor hadn’t been awake enough to see him carry in. 

“I figured I should at least try and make this right,” Hank continues, peeling the tape off the box. It bears CyberLife’s logo and Connor frowns s Hank opens it, reaching into careful package protection to lift out a small modulator in a plastic box, wires sticking out either end. Connor’s eyes widen and he looks between the device and Hank’s face in stunned disbelief.

“May I?” Hank asks, putting the larger box on the floor. “I called ahead and asked if I could pick it up instead of waiting to get it delivered. I know how much you hate going in for repairs.”

Connor is beyond touched at the gesture. All previous irritation swept away by this kindness, he nods eagerly and gets up to follow Hank to the bedroom. He sprawls across the bed, slipping off his shirt, and lifts a hand to open his throat panel when Hank stops him.

“Let me,” he murmurs, sitting beside him. “Let me take care of you. God knows, you do enough for me.”

Slowly, Connor lowers his hand.

Hank strokes two fingertips down the column of Connor’s throat, softly, tenderly, a small smile tugging up the corner of his mouth as the skin under his fingers drifts away to bare the plastic underneath. Carefully he dips two fingers into the hollow at the base of Connor’s throat, and the panelling there slides away to reveal the dark blue glow of his inner workings. There’s a blackened module in Connor’s throat, fried by the electricity of the fence and Hank winces as he reaches in to brush a finger against it.

“Does it hurt?”

Connor gives a minute shake of his head. It’s a strange angle to watch from, eyes cast down as far as they can go to watch Hank tinker around under his chin. There’s a tugging sensation, no pain, and then a dialogue box pops up in Connor’s UI to inform him that his voice modulator has been removed. He pushes it away, redundant as it is.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” Hank murmurs, brows pinched in concentration. Connor isn’t even able to make those static-heavy sounds now, so he just brushes a palm over Hank’s shoulder to let him know he’s been heard and understood.

“Here, we go,” Hank mumbles, slipping his fingers into Connor’s throat, digits curling around his vocal connection wire.

Something very similar to the shock from the fence surges through Connor’s body, except not nearly as violent and intensely more pleasurable. Hank mumbles an apology, likely thinking he’s tugged something the wrong way, but Connor has no voice to explain, nor any idea of what actually happened.

Hank’s fingers tighten around the connecting wire and Connor lets out a gasp of air that hitches slightly in his open throat. Hank’s eyes flit up to his face, frown deepening. 

“You good? Tap me once for yes, twice for no.”

Slightly unsure but infinitely curious, Connor taps Hank’s arm once. Nodding, Hank leans back down for a better look at what he’s doing, fingers slipping down the connector wire as he feeds it into the new modulator.

And  _oh._ That’s new and achingly familiar at the same time. That’s pleasure sparking through his systems, different to the pleasure he knows when Hank is touching him externally. This... This is  _deeper_ somehow, reaching right into Connor’s core processes, caressing the pure mechanical center of him.

Hank holds his tongue between his teeth while he works, clicking the first of the wires into place and Connor can’t whine, can’t make any noise, but his fists clench in the sheets and he hisses a breath through his teeth which is enough to draw Hank’s attention.

“You alright, Con?”

Connor slaps the mattress once. Hard. He tilts his head back slightly to expose more of his neck. Hank’s eyes narrow in confusion before blowing wide with understanding. He seems to finally take it all in, Connor’s slack mouth, his slightly elevated breathing, the faint blush on his cheeks. He stares down at him, stone still.

“You can feel this? Inside? When I...” He brushes his thumb over a thick wire and Connor’s body jerks involuntarily. It’s hot and lances through him but he can’t make a  _sound_ and it’s driving him wild. Red creeps up Hank’s cheeks and he swallows, carefully slipping the modulator into place. Connor shudders, biting his lip and letting out little more than a sharp gasp and fighting to keep still. An installation bar pops up in his UI detailing the time until the new component comes online, but Connor can’t wait that long to be heard.

He presses a palm against his stomach, skin receding and panel opening, baring himself entirely to Hank who leans back, staring into the core of him with something like awe.

“Connor, you want me to-” He stops himself at Connor’s frantic nodding and the single slap of his palm against the bed sheets. He swallows hard. Once, twice, then a third time before slipping a hesitant hand inside the open panel.

The first brush of fingers against the small string of wires closest to the panel edge sends Connor writhing as his coding flutters and glitches under that deep, overwhelming feedback. He’s stuck in a loop of it, receptors screaming as he arches into the contact, gasping harshly. Hank’s eyes are fixed firmly on his face as he caresses his insides, hesitant strokes becoming more confident, firmer, as he coaxes stronger responses from him.

“Jesus, Connor,” Hank breathes, voice rough. “This really doing it for you?”

Connor nods helplessly, eyes rolling a little as Hank grabs a handful of wires and  _tugs._ It’s torture, not being able to moan like he wants, the only sounds the soft rustle of plastic and wires and their quick-paced breathing. The modulator is halfway installed, but Connor’s not going to make it. Hank’s clever hands are pressing everywhere at once, overloading his systems, sending pleasure surging through his entire body.

A choked moan, mostly static, glitches out of Connor’s throat, barely audible but there all the same. His throat vibrates with the sound of it and Hank delves his hand deeper, stroking his fingers along wires and panels and tugging here and there to send Connor reeling.

Connor is panting desperately, clutching Hank’s shoulders tightly. He’s unbearably hard and so is Hank, the outline of him pressing against the front of his jeans. Connor wants to whine, to reach for him and touch him, but Hank slaps his grasping hand away, clumsily dragging his fly down with his one free hand and reaching in to palm at his cock, gasping harshly as he rolls his hip into his hand.

It’s perfect and Connor is delirious with it. He can feel every artificial nerve in his body twitch and seize, trembling as he edges closer and closer to coming. Hank is panting hard, hand jerking quickly over his cock, the other unravelling Connor from the core. Something sparks in his eyes, his modulator kicks in, and then Connor is shouting, crying out as he comes, voice crackling and hitching, deafening in the early morning and Hank follows with a guttural groan, shuddering and slowly withdrawing his hand. The panel slowly seals itself and the skin drifts back into place, a few drops of thirium staining Connor’s stomach where they drip down from Hank’s fingers.

“I,” Hank croaks, clearing his throat. “Didn’t know that was a thing for you.”

“I had my suspicions,” Connor mumbles, sated and sleepy. “Come to bed. I missed you.”

Hank eyes the mess on the sheets and his hand, then shrugs and wipes it off on the duvet cover before shedding his jeans and clambering over to Connor’s other side, curling around him. Connor nuzzles into him happily with a soft, relieved sigh, humming as Hank presses a soft kiss to his hair.

He’s just slipping off into a more comfortable stasis when Hank shudders beside him.

“Hank?”

“S-sorry,” he stutters, pushing his face into Connor’s hair. “I just... I keep thinking about how far you flew back after you touched that fence.” He shudders again, holding back laughter.

Connor allows himself a heavy roll of his eyes, and lets himself laugh, too. It must have looked quite amusing, really.

 

 

 


End file.
